That Old Heartthrob

A few years back I was driving back up the East Coast headed for DC to visit one of my best friends. I had been to Southern Virginia before, but never during peak cherry blossom season. It was snowing flowers all over the place. I stayed at his apartment in Arlington and took the Metro into DC. I drank whiskey at an Irish pub, rode around the Metro, saw Stonewall Jackson’s grave, smoked in alleys, and stood in front of the White House. I had a notebook in my back pocket, and scribbled notes in it for a few days. I came away with a great understanding of DC and America. In short, I was enamored with our nation’s capital. It lead me to write a series of poems about the experience. This is one poem from that series.